


Pinkish

by SabbyWrites



Series: Pinkish/Don't Try [1]
Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: Fantasizing, Friends to Lovers, Male Solo, Masturbation, Multi, PWP, Pining, Reader is not the farmer, Requited Unrequited Love, Sebastian generally being soft af
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-26 17:00:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20745632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SabbyWrites/pseuds/SabbyWrites
Summary: [this dream is calling your name.]Sebastian loves you; and yet, you linger just out of reach.For now.





	Pinkish

**Author's Note:**

> hi all! i love stardew valley and i love seb and there are SO FEW reader insert fics for this fandom that i felt like contributing. 
> 
> this is the first part in a two-part series. this part is just porn. next part is also porn but with some more backstory. you know i can't resist plot. 
> 
> this series is inspired by two singles by gerard way. you can listen to the first [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eV7OACG-fbE)
> 
> hope you guys enjoy!
> 
> beta'd by the amazing [bluesimba](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueSimba/pseuds/BlueSimba) and [tabs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TabsBrowser/pseuds/TabsBrowser)
> 
> xx sab

Thursday nights are always the ones Sebastian looks forward to the most. 

If he were to psychoanalyze it— which he does for nearly everything nowadays— he could pin it to a few different reasons. The slow, lethargic feeling of having nothing in particular to do the next day, the fact that Sam and Abigail are free of their other evening obligations and can spend hours rolling joints and shooting the shit with him and, of course, playing Solorian Chronicles until the early hours of the next morning. 

All of this pales in comparison, of course, to you. 

You’re a package deal with Abigail in the same way he is with Sam, often found around her but not exclusive to her company. Sebastian used to never mind not having you to himself, but with each year that passes in the valley alongside his increased enthusiasm for those Thursday nights he gets to spend in your company, he’s come to accept what the clenching in his stomach and the heat in his cheeks means. 

It lingers even when you’ve long since left the basement after a particularly grueling session of your current Solorian Chronicles campaign. The long hours spent in the company of you, Abigail, and Sam never bothers him, though the way you bite your lip as you and Abigail giggle together or nudge his foot under the table has felt almost suffocating as of late. 

He spares a glance at the clock. It’s been less than an hour since you left, and if he closes his eyes and focuses, he thinks he can still smell your perfume in his room like a stubborn ghost. He screws his eyes shut, a little too tightly, and fights the urge to think about the way you’d smiled at him before you followed Abigail and Sam out the door. Like you might’ve stayed if he had asked you to. 

But it’s no use. Thoughts of you flood his mind with such intensity that even if he had wanted to, he’d be unable to stop them. Your fleeting grins, the ones you would give him before rolling for your next move; the drag of your fingers against his scalp when you playfully tousle his hair, despite being a good head shorter than him; the way your knee bumped against his last week when you sat down next to him in the saloon after the ice festival, complaining about the weather— and fuck, the way you looked in that stupid sweater Harvey made you wear. He’d never seen someone wear a turtleneck so well in his life—

“God damn it,” he groans, to nobody in particular. As infuriating as it is to be unable to think of your sweet, kind eyes without some debauched thought following right after, he can’t deny the spark of excitement he feels every time you hold his gaze. He’s never felt like this before, and he’s not stupid enough to think you find him utterly repulsive. You’ve certainly shown him more attention than you’ve ever shown Sam, and while Sebastian isn’t normally one for some toxic caveman-brained pride at getting a girl to look his way, he has it bad enough for you that even the smallest hint of reciprocation makes him feel like he’s thirteen and just discovered masturbation all over again. 

He sneaks a glance over at his door. Although his mother and Demetrius have long since gone to bed, Maru’s been known to sneak downstairs for the occasional midnight conversation. He’s not keen on scarring her for life because of a stupid mistake. 

With confirmation that the lock is turned in the handle, he sighs a little forlornly and gently rubs his palm against the slowly-hardening bulge in the front of his pants. His mind buzzes for a moment as it sifts through his mental rolodex of fantasies, trying to pick the perfect one for tonight and eventually settling on a start from an actual memory. 

_ Four weeks ago, at the end of fall. You’d been watching them play billiards all night, jokingly placing your bets with Abigail over who would win. He’d pretended not to care, even while he focused harder than he ever had on a game before when you’d declared that you’d bet your life savings on his win. He hadn’t let you down, delighting a little too much in the way your beer-hazed eyes watched him from the loveseat trying desperately to ignore the way it caused his skin to heat a little too much for comfort.  _

_ His win came naturally. You cheered and clapped and faked some exaggerated relief towards both Abigail and Shane— the former of which laughed, while the latter seemed wholly uninterested in your attempt to be social with him— and it was with that exchange that Sam frowned over at him.  _

_ “Rematch?”  _

_ Seb patted the box of cigarettes in the pocket of his hoodie. “In a minute. I’m gonna go smoke a ‘grit.”  _

His breathing hitches ever so slightly. His dick is fully hard, and he hasn’t even gotten anywhere yet. Just the thought, the thought of you and him—

He shoves his pants down and, after a moment of feeling slightly silly, yanks his sweatshirt off as well, the cool air of his room thankfully soothing on his mostly-naked body. 

_ “I’m gonna join you.” You said, and he’d raised an eyebrow but didn’t protest. You pushed yourself up from the loveseat, a tipsy smile curling your mouth. You didn’t bother asking Abigail if she was coming as you made your way to the door. From the way she looked at the both of you, he’s sure she would have said no anyway. _

_ Rain was pattering down on the last few remains of autumn, the leaves soggy and torn on the stone path outside. You asked him if he had an umbrella. When he said no, you stepped closer to him.  _

_ (Under the ledge of the saloon’s roof. Just to stay dry, he’d told himself. It felt like a lie even just thinking it.)  _

_ “Can I have some?”  _

_ He quirked a brow at you again. The innocent expression on your face doesn’t match your request; you’re staring at the cigarette between his lips with an interest that doesn’t do his tight jeans any favors.  _

_ “Sure,” he says after his own inhale, exhaling the smoke back out as he passes the cigarette to you, “I didn’t know you smoked.”  _

_ “I don’t,” you say, taking the cigarette for a moment and just appraising it between your fingers, watching the orange ember at the end burn for a handful of seconds before putting it between your lips— _

He shoves his boxers down too, hands a little clammy. He nearly groans in relief when he finally  _ wraps a hand around his dick.  _

_ He’d expected you to grimace as you exhaled, but your face remains impassive. Thoughtful. You pass the cigarette back to him.  _

_ “Not your speed?” He asks. You grin up at him.  _

_ “Nah, not really.” You don’t make any move to go back inside— you just stand there. Like you’re waiting for something.  _

He’d almost kissed you then. He’d almost asked you if you wanted to ditch Sam’s redemption round and head back to the shop with him— Maru was working late with Harvey, and Robin and Demetrius were still enjoying dinner with Gus— 

But he hadn’t. The two of you went back inside and he’d played a half-assed game while you and Abigail gossiped about some internet friend of hers from Zuzu city. You’d gone your separate ways after last call and he’d walked home by himself in the rain, getting soaked but still somehow warm at the thought of your lips around the cigarette. 

But what if? What if he’d gotten the balls to ask you out? What if he’d been assertive enough to make a move?

His hand tightens slightly around his dick as he begins to jerk himself off, the high from the joint he and Sam had polished off earlier mostly worn away but lingering just enough to let his mind wander a little more than usual. 

He thinks your mouth would taste like cotton candy. Or maybe mint, or like a lemon candy, or maybe even cinnamon. Something sweet, something pleasant. He wonders if you’ve kissed a lot of people, if you’d enjoy kissing him. Sometimes when you look at him like how you’d looked at him outside the saloon, he thinks you would. He thinks you’d make pretty little noises into his mouth, maybe a cute gasp or a faint whimper; he could’ve pushed you against the bricks out front and nobody would have seen, could’ve snaked a hand up your shirt and—

He bites back a groan and he fucks up into his hand slightly, trying to pin down exactly how your skin might feel. He’s seen jars of moisturizer on your vanity before, so you’re probably soft. Soft and pliant, and maybe you’d arch into his touch without even thinking about it, without protesting that you were outside for everyone to see. 

One of his legs twitches slightly at the thought. God , the concept of being able to touch you already has him nearing a tailspin. His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, cooled by his gentle panting. He’s not going to last. 

Reluctantly, he skips ahead in his fantasy.  _ You’ve agreed to follow him home, holding onto his hand the entire way _ — an innocuous detail, but one that his him bucking into his hand a little more feverishly nonetheless. His hand smears the spot of precome that’s already begun to leak from his head down the side of his shaft, breathing uneven as he thinks about the way you might look up at him, the sort of confident grin that might dominate your face. You’re not the type to be a meek lover. You’d probably enjoy it if he— if he—

_ You croon his name into his ear the second he pushes you against the door of the shop. It’s quiet, just like he’d promised, and it’d almost be a little eerie if the two of you weren’t so busy kissing each other. Your hand tries once, twice in vain to flick the lock of the front door and he has half a mind to pull away, to grin down at you and tease you for the presumptuous move. But he won’t—he can’t, not when he’s busy mapping out the skin of your stomach with his fingers— _

He licks his lips again. He can already feel the telltale signs of a finish on the horizon. 

_ You’d pull him downstairs by the front of his shirt, grinning the whole time. And he’d be grinning too, face flushed and looking like a complete idiot but it would be okay, it would be more than okay because you’d lift your shirt up over your head and start on your pants and you’d be beautiful, excited, all for him— _

“Fuck,” he mutters for no real reason at all, too far gone to try and check his sentimentality at the door. 

_ You’d pull him in for another kiss and it would be a little slower this time. You’d run your fingers down his bare arms and he’d put his hands on your waist, the fabric of your underwear rough under the pads of his fingertips. What it looks like doesn’t matter to him. It’s you, it’s you— it’s always been you.  _

His toes curl slightly as he draws nearer to his climax. He knows that if he continues at his current pace, he’ll surely finish before he gets to the good part, and yet it’s hard to skip over the mushy stuff. Back when he’d first developed feelings for you, he’d always tried to deny that they made the fantasy that much better. Now, years later, he’s an adult and knows damn well that he has it bad enough for you that the thought of marriage is just as arousing as whatever fucked up shit he thought of as a teenager. 

_ He gets you onto the bed. Crawls on top of you and you spread your legs immediately and you’re wet, god you’re so fucking wet—  _

_ “Want you,” you pant, “I want you so bad, Seb.”  _

He bites his lip.

_ “I know,” he says, because that’s simpler than telling you he’s been in love with you since middle school, “I know.”  _

_ You’d wrap your arms around his neck as he pushes into you, letting out a small crooning sound as you kiss the corner of his mouth. Maybe you’d let out a sigh of contentment, too, like you’d been waiting just as long as he had. And maybe you’d tell him that while he touches your clit, gasping and moaning and telling him that you love him, you’ve wanted him for so long and now—  _

—now—

He doesn’t even register how hard his teeth push against his lip as he comes onto his hand, leg twitching involuntarily as he tries to hold back a particularly rough groan. For a second he does nothing at all except breathe heavily, gaining his bearings back. That’s the hardest he’s finished in a while, even harder than the time he fantasized about being on his honeymoon with you. 

He checks the clock again. It hasn’t been that long. With a curse wrapped into a sigh he yanks a tissue from the box on his nightstand and cleans his hand off, balling it up and tossing it into the garbage can near his desk. It only barely makes it in. 

Recognizing the cold, dissatisfying post-orgasm feelings on the fringe of his now-cleared mind, he sits up and casts a glance around the room. It might be nice to pack a bowl, or maybe even tidy up after tonight’s chapter in the campaign. He’s sure if he neglects it now, he’s going to step on his dice in the morning. 

And yet he can’t bring himself to move any further. Alone with his thoughts and almost paralyzed with the heavy, inescapable knowledge of how in love with you he is; he’s long passed the time of being depressed or in denial over it, but it doesn’t make the fact that you’re just out of reach any easier. 

He doesn’t think it ever will. 


End file.
